When Strawberries Bloom (25 page)

And he would be so grateful for her sweet nature, her love and support, that he would go hiking for three weeks, have a great time, and tell all his friends what a wonderful, kind, loving wife he had at home. Somewhere along the line she had to get rid of her anger against men being the stronger vessel, the head of the house, the boss, in plain words, the king, which only brought on a fresh case of rebellion within her.

Oh, the whole mess was hopeless. Throwing off the covers, she stalked over to Mandy’s bedroom door, yanked it open, and stuck her head inside.

“Are you still awake?”

“Mm-hmm, what do you want?”

Lizzie walked in and sat down on Mandy’s bed, as she scooted over to make room.

“Oh, I can’t sleep. I’m thinking too much. Did you read your Bible about marriage like Mam told us to?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what did you think?”

“That’s just how it is, Lizzie. It’s really quite simple. We both live for each other and not for ourselves, and it’ll go okay.”

“It’s not
that
simple!” Lizzie exclaimed, appalled at the thought of entering marriage with that tiny amount of concern. “What if your husband would want to go on vacation for three weeks, and you thought it was a dumb idea? Huh? Then what?”

Anger crossed Mandy’s features, and she said impatiently, “Well, if you’re in one of those moods, just go to bed. Go on. You’re just mad because Stephen is going hiking, and you are acting like one huge, overgrown baby, pitying yourself, determined to justify your own selfishness with those Bible verses. Now go to bed. I’m tired.”

Mandy rolled over and pulled up the covers, or tried to, but she couldn’t with Lizzie sitting on them. She lifted her head and glared at her. “
Go
!” she shouted.

So Lizzie went.

Back in bed she tossed and turned, thinking and rethinking what Mandy had said. She was clearly on Stephen’s side, so what was the use of talking to her? Selfish. So Mandy thought she was being selfish. Well, Mandy had better watch it. She just better watch who she called selfish. Lizzie could feel the heat rising in her cheeks as she thought about what Mandy had said about her justifying herself, and her rebellion. She was quite sure she meant that anyway.

Oh, that Mandy. She may as well be a little bearded man living high in the Himalayan mountains, a small wrinkled philosopher around whom people gathered for words of wisdom. She knew Mandy could see right through her, and she was as exposed as if she were made of air with little banners blowing that said she was selfish, childish, and rebellious.

She flipped onto her left side, reached out, and peered at the face of her alarm clock. Eleven-twenty-five. She groaned. It would soon be time to get up and she still hadn’t slept a wink. She’d have to resort to counting sheep, she supposed. It was an awful thing when you thought too much, planned too much, and worried far too much about the future.

Oh, that’s right, she thought. I forgot to pray. I wrestle around with all my problems and forget to hand them to God. She wished it would be as easy as two hands reaching down through the ceiling to retrieve Lizzie’s bundle labeled “Troubles.” The minute the bundle was in God’s hands, it would be lifted up through the ceiling and gone out of sight, out of her mind, never to be seen again.

Life, however, was not that easy. Real life, real problems. Dear God, you’re going to have to help me with this husband and wife thing. I will give up now and not be selfish. Help me, Lord, to be truly unselfish. Keep Stephen safe on the Appalachian Trail, and keep me safe from rebellion. Amen.

She breathed deeply, relaxing, and even giggled to herself as she dared to hope—although she stopped short of asking God to let it happen—she just hoped a mountain lion would scare them so hysterically they’d come back home two weeks earlier than they had planned. Or a bobcat. The way they screamed, it would probably work even better.

When Stephen brought her home after the hymn-singing on Sunday evening, Lizzie was a bit better prepared to hear him say that their plans were finished now, and they would be leaving Tuesday morning. She managed a small smile as he talked, listening attentively to his plans without once resorting to rebellious feelings.

“I want to be sure and thank you, Lizzie,” he finished, watching her face attentively.

“For what?” she asked, in a genuinely small, quiet voice.

“For being nice about me being gone so long. I know you don’t want me to go, but you’re being an awfully good sport about it, and I do appreciate it.”

“You wouldn’t stay home for me, would you? I mean, give up the whole adventure if I didn’t want you to go?”

Stephen was quiet for a very long time, before he said with a soft laugh, “Probably not.”

So there. She had a notion to give him the whole lecture and bring the Bible to show him that he was supposed to lay down his own life for her. She knew that wouldn’t be a good idea, mostly because they were not married yet. He had never asked her to be his wife, so really being so pointed would be a very wrong thing to do.

Lizzie wanted to assure him that it was all right for him to go, to let him know that she wanted him to have a good time. She really did, but she also wanted him to worry a bit that she wasn’t happy because he was going and leaving her. So she didn’t answer.

And in that silence, her own battle of right and wrong raged in her spirit. She knew the right thing to do, but she couldn’t let go of her own desires to make him feel bad, at least a little. She wanted to punish him somehow for going against her will, so she remained silent while right fought wrong with a clashing of swords.

Finally, Stephen cleared his throat, watching her carefully as she sat in her self-induced little war of wills.

“Maybe I better go. It’s getting late. Good-bye, Lizzie. I’ll send you postcards, if I can.”

Lizzie got up to go along to the barn as she always did, feeling perfectly miserable. “Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands,” was constantly in her thoughts, but she reasoned that little bother away by telling herself she wasn’t his wife. She didn’t have to submit yet.

When Stephen was ready to step into the buggy, all of Lizzie’s battles and miseries came crashing down around her, and she reached out to touch his arm.

“I … I’m sorry, Stephen. I
do
hope you enjoy your vacation, and I’ll be patiently waiting till you come home. I’ll miss you so much, but you know that, don’t you?”

She was rewarded by the most loving look she had ever received from him as he told her again how he appreciated her attitude and how much he would miss her.

After he left, and the battle of her own will won, she felt as light as a feather floating on a soft white cloud. So that was the answer, she thought happily as she fairly danced up the stairs to her bedroom. If you could give up a teeny-tiny bit, God would supply all the feelings of love you needed. He filled your cup way full until it ran over the sides and made a big puddle beside it.

T
HE GIRLS SAT SIDE
by side on the porch swing, pushing their feet lightly against the concrete floor to keep it in rocking motion. It was one of those quiet twilight times, not yet dark, although the sun had slid behind the mountain for awhile already. The birds were twittering and fussing, scooping up the last mosquitoes for their babies’ bedtime snacks. The barn door slammed, sending a few noisy robins into startled flight as Jason came walking across the drive and up the sidewalk to the porch.

He would turn 16 years old soon and was looking every inch the young man that he was. His shoulders and arms were heavier, the muscles showing beneath his shirtsleeves, and he had grown at least three more inches that summer, or so it seemed. Lizzie and Mandy adored him, their handsome young brother with the kind blue eyes that twinkled back at them as they teased each other or had long, serious conversations. His eyes always twinkled. He was naturally kind, Mam said.

But then, that Mam, Lizzie thought. She just loved Jason because he did anything she asked of him. If she needed manure for her flower beds, or a bit of mulch brought, or even if she came home with a load of groceries, Jason ran to help. Sometimes Lizzie felt a bit jealous about how much Mam loved Jason, but not very often, knowing he deserved her devotion, as kind as he was to her.

“Hey,” he said quietly as he threw himself down on the porch steps, sighing as he ran his hands through his shock of curly brown hair.

“Hey, yourself,” Lizzie answered.

“You’re awfully dirty,” Mandy observed.

“You would be, too. It was a long day and I’m about beat.”

“You work too hard, Jase,” Lizzie said.

“Shh!” Jason put his finger to his lips and rolled his eyes in Dat’s direction as he came across the yard. He didn’t really hobble or limp; he just had a dragging gait, almost as if he couldn’t lift his feet properly.

Dat stopped at the porch, grabbing the railing before looking at Jason. “Tired?” he asked.

“A little.”

“You work too hard, Jason.”

Dat shook his head, a frustrated look in his eyes, his hands gripping the railing firmly. He knew he wasn’t able to do some of the fieldwork anymore, and that ever so gradually more and more of the heavy jobs, as well as the responsibility of the farm, fell on Jason’s young shoulders.

Mam came out to join them. The twins were in bed already. Mam was wearing her blue summer housecoat that still smelled like talcum powder, the same as it always had. It didn’t matter which scent of powder she used, they all smelled like Mam. Even when Lizzie was a little, worried girl, Mam’s housecoat had smelled the same, a soft, flowery Mam aroma that wrapped around you, comforting and instilling a sense of peace, of belonging, of love as warm and sure as the sun that rose and set each day.

“Do we have any ice cream in the freezer?” Jason asked, lifting his eyes to look at Mam.

“Oh, yes! Your favorite. I just got two half-gallons in town today,” Mam said, as she hurried into the kitchen to fill a dish with his favorite treat.

“Anyone else?” she called out the kitchen window.

Everyone had a dish of ice cream as they had a serious conversation about farming. Dat broached the subject, saying matter-of-factly that he couldn’t see any sense in continuing, seeing how hard Jason had to work just to keep everything afloat. He admitted that the cows weren’t doing as well as most of the other farmers’ cows in the area, and that it was a constant struggle to keep the bills paid with enough left over to live on decently.

Mam had known for a long time what Dat was now admitting. She had often fussed to the girls, her face red as she toyed nervously with the straight pins in her dress, saying how she wished Dat would give up farming.

“He’s just not cut out to be a farmer,” she would say wearily, before giving in time after time, hoping that Dat would see it for himself.

Now it seemed as if Dat had finally arrived at this conclusion. Mam could not hide the excitement in her eyes as she listened to what Dat was saying, and Lizzie could tell she felt like shouting her delight at his words.

“So some changes are going to have to come,” Dat said.

“Like what?” Jason asked, his spoonful of ice cream stopping halfway as he turned to face Dat.

“Well, we’re going to have to make a living somehow. I have MS, which isn’t that big of an issue, really, because I can still do a good day’s work. But …” Dat said, his voice softening, “it won’t always be this way.”

Lifting his head, he looked out across the fields to the creek. “I always liked to build things, carpenter work. What do you think, Jason? Could we run a carpenter crew?”

Jason shrugged his shoulders. “You could, maybe. I don’t know much about building anything, although I suppose I could learn.”

“Sure you can learn. Building is just a matter of common sense and hard work. In a few months you’ll probably be working circles around me,” Dat smiled.

Praise from Dat was scarce, so when he did congratulate someone on a job well done, or whatever, it meant the world to them. Jason ducked his head, flustered, not quite knowing how to handle this compliment, but Lizzie could see a small smile of embarrassment on his face. Dat had given him a real compliment, like one man to another, telling him he was a hard worker.

So the day came a few weeks later, when a tractor and trailer rolled down the country road, and were barely able to make the turn at the end of the drive. The driver had to back up and keep trying at a few different angles, barely inching his way past the wooden corner post of the fence lining the driveway. One wheel went down so far into the ditch Lizzie felt sure the whole truck would twist sideways until it snapped in two.

Dat got quite fussed up, almost running out the drive, waving his arms, trying to be helpful, which, probably wasn’t of much assistance to the driver, who was used to handling his truck quite well by himself. But that’s how Dat was. When he hitched up a horse, he said, “Whoa, Whoa,” almost continuously. Even if the horse stood rock still, he kept saying “Whoa.”

Dat was small and became agitated easily, putting in lots of effort to accomplish a task. He was also very meticulous about things, making sure everything was done to his specifications, so that was probably the reason he became so excited, knowing how he would dislike having the corner of his fence run over by a tractor and trailer.